Erototropía

A loud crash and gust of wind broke the soft murmurings of the room, a class of 30-odd students still contemplating what possessed them to take an 8am elective - on a Monday morning no less. Ushered in by a quick burst of rain and the rushing sounds of traffic outside the class, you stumbled across the threshold and found that you were somewhat later and more wet than you had intended for your first class of the semester.

Feeling expectant eyes on you, a quick apology was necessary, “I’m so sorry I’m late professor, my bus was delayed and I -”

Standing just behind his mahogany desk, the man teaching the class gave you a quick appraisal before deciding that the rain had probably been inconvenience enough for one day. He interrupted, voice deep and lilting, “That’s quite alright, my dear, you’re only a couple of minutes behind so I won’t mark you late. Please, take a seat.”

In disbelief, you grinned at him, “Thank you, sir, I appreciate it!”

Slinging your bag into the space under the closest chair, you sank into the scratchy fabric, shrugging off your dad’s old army coat that had absorbed most of the water from the storm, except your trousers were soaked through, and your hat had become something more akin to a drowned bit of fur. You groaned in annoyance, this was gonna be a long day in such wet clothes.

“Alright, so, as I was saying, my name is Dr Otto Octavius, but I’m not particular about formality, so call me Otto if it’s easier,” a faint smile ghosted your lips, this guy seemed chill, “...and I will be your professor for this elective. We’re only running for semester 1, so this class will be pretty full-on to get all of the content covered in only a couple of months.”

He turned, chalk in hand, to scratch out the name of the course onto the board behind him, “As some of you may know from previous years, I am in fact a physics professor, and teach lots of classes in the Mechanics Department as well as normal physics for undergraduates. However, having done quite a bit of drama at college, I am standing in for the professor who would normally teach this class while she is on maternity leave.”

He placed the chalk back onto his desk and smiled at the class, his gaze warm and friendly, “So welcome to Theatre Studies! Shall we do some icebreakers to help you all wake up a bit on this lovely Monday morning?”

Some of the students at the back of the class groaned, clearly uninterested in engaging. It frustrated you a little that lots of people took electives they didn’t care about just for the extra credits, but it was understandable. Everyone wants to graduate.

“Let’s start with the newest addition to the group, and go around the room saying our names, degrees and why we’re interested in theatre.”

It took a beat to realise he meant you, and you fumbled for a second. “Uh, sure. Hi, my name is (Y/N) and I’m in my third year of studying for a degree in Classics.” This gained an approving eyebrow from Octavius, who gestured for you to continue, “...and I suppose I’m interested in theatre because it’s a great form of self-expression?” You petered off into an awkward grin, praying that was the end of it.

Octavius met your smile with an exuberant one of his own, “Ah, so a classics student is among us, convenient for the weeks we’ll be studying Greek theatre and the origins of drama!” He switched his focus to the girl a couple of seats on your left, “Next?”

While the rest of the class were mumbling their way through the introductions, you took this opportunity to study the man in front of you, trying to figure out where you recognised him from. It wasn’t uncommon to have overlaps between departments, but you hadn’t been taught by any scientists before, yet Octavius seemed oddly familiar…

He was wearing a red turtleneck sweater and brown corduroy trousers, suede shoes and you spotted a leather greatcoat hanging on the back of his chair that gave off biker vibes, a weird contrast to the figure he cut, a seemingly typical, bookish professor. With a start, you realised where you knew him from. He was an occasional regular at the bar you worked at, coming in maybe three times a month with the odd date, never the same man or woman twice. Always polite, tipping well, with a great taste in drinks, and wearing that same leather greatcoat every time.

You recalled when you first began working there, you had developed a small crush on him after a particularly rowdy customer had been giving you trouble, and Octavius had intervened on your behalf, throwing the woman out and helping patch up the nasty cut on your cheek that had resulted from the fight. He had been such a gentleman about it, and despite that being nearly six years ago, when you first moved to NY, he hadn’t changed a bit.

The rest of the class flew by, much to your dismay. Octavius was an excellent teacher, and his way of speaking had brought about the remnants of that old crush, especially when he referred to you as “my dear” - an exclusive pet name that the rest of the class were exempt from. As it neared 09:10, he called for silence, shooting the students at the back a disapproving glance when they took a while to stop talking.

“Now, I won’t be setting homework for this first class, merely to ask you all to read the first chapter in the textbook and try and engage as much as possible with any plays or productions that you can watch between today and next week. Please try and enjoy this course, and be prepared for the two essays you’ll be writing for the coursework element later in the semester. If you guys have any questions, feel free to pop into my office whenever, or drop me an email.” He paused to smile at the class, and you felt his gaze linger a while on you, a sudden flash of recognition in his eyes, “...oh, and before I forget, any of those looking for some extra credit and a half-decent bit of pay can apply to be my assistant this year. I know some of you have experience with placements like this, and for those that don’t, it’ll be mostly marking and the odd errand, nothing overly scientific or stressful. Those interested can come and talk to me at the end of the day. Other than that, enjoy your week!”

The class began to file out, and as you searched for your crumpled timetable in the depths of your bag, you felt eyes on you, and a figure loomed in front of your desk.

“(Y/N), wasn’t it? I knew we’d met before.”

Grasping the timetable and slinging your satchel onto your shoulder, you smiled at Octavius, “Yeh, hi again. Wasn’t expecting to see you teaching my class!”

“Not an unwelcome surprise, I hope? I always enjoyed our occasional chats at the bar,” he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, straightening his back with a sigh, “despite that nasty business a few years back. How is your cheek, by the way?”

Standing from your seat, your hand unconsciously darted up to the scarred flesh that rested above your cheekbone. “Oh of course not, always nice to have the inside track with the professor, even if it is only what booze you like to drink!” he chuckled at that, “And yeah my cheek is fine thanks, just got a little scar to show for it, nothing fancy.”

Octavius pulled his hand from its pocket and leaned in, reaching for you and momentarily brushing your cheek as if to examine the old cut, before thinking better of it and settling for a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Don’t go telling everyone my drinking preferences, then, and I won’t tell them how you got your scar.”

Desperately trying to ignore the blush that crept up your neck at the softness of his touch on your face, you laughed, “It’s not that embarrassing of a story, but sure, I’ll keep your secret! I never properly thanked you for patching me up though, so thank you.”

Was reaching out your hand for a handshake odd? You didn’t really consider it properly, truth be told, as your brain was fried slightly with his hand on your arm, your skin burning up where his calloused palm rested.

Your brain got a welcome rest though, as he chuckled and moved his hand from your shoulder, shaking your hand instead with a smile. “You are very welcome, my dear, don’t make a habit of needing patching up though.”

“I won’t, sir, don’t worry.” Something odd happened to his face when you called him ‘sir’, and the shake of his Adam's apple when he swallowed made your eyebrow twitch questioningly.

He ignored the eyebrow, or perhaps he didn’t see it, merely squeezing your hand tightly and sharing a friendly wink with you.

“Please, (Y/N), call me Otto.”

This handshake was weirdly intimate, and you couldn’t quite tear your eyes away from his. Something cracked in your chest with the familiarity, and the warmth of his hand on yours.

You were sure your voice was shaky, and less certain than before, “Sure, well I’ll see you around, Otto.” Your next class was in half an hour, but you needed to get out of that room. This man was doing things to your mind that were not suitable for a classroom.

He released your hand at last, voice suddenly a lot softer, tender even, “Goodbye, my dear.”

Otto watched you leave with a smile.